The Telmar Trilogy, Vol 1: The Legend of Telmar
by KartheyM
Summary: I wrote this some time ago, based on an idea I had of a deaf-mute being able to hear and speak in Narnia. Also, I wanted to explore a likely process of Susan's rejection of the idea of Narnia. Also, I'm just a huge CS Lewis fan. :) *Please Read & Review! :)*
1. Chapter 1

_**The Telmar Trilogy **_

Volume I

**The Legend of Telmar**

_**Prologue**_

_Cold . . . very cold . . . very cold and wet . . . why would she be wet? Her skin felt sticky, too. Why was she laying out like this? She must get into the shade, get warm. Perhaps she would build a fire. Why couldn't she move? Why did her wrists hurt? What was wrong with her ankles?_

She opened her eyes, but had to squint against the bright sun overhead. She tried to shade her eyes, but could not move her hands. They were bound with strong leather cords, secure from the first, but since getting wet they had shrunk, and now bit into her wrists painfully. Her ankles were bound to the small raft in a similar fashion. All around her was wide-open sea. She saw the white shapes of gulls on the water, but she could not hear their cries. She could do nothing to protect herself from the water, the sun, or any other calamity that might befall her. She could not feed herself, and anyway, there was nothing to eat or drink.  
They had intended her to die. Of course she must; after all, she was The Curse.  
What sort of a person would be deaf from birth? What made a person that way, even from the first moments of life? There was no physical cause for that. There was only one cause: a curse. Not the parents' curse; the baby was a curse to itself, _The _Curse, an individual entity. They named it Melanie, which meant "darkness," and promptly called it The Curse, using no other title in reference to it.  
No mother was obligated to nurture a curse. No father needed to work to protect or raise a curse. Children and others (she could not call them friends, for she had none) did not have to be kind in the least way to a curse. A curse was not even human, and need not be given the same rights; a curse was inhuman, an animal, fit only for beatings.  
If a person became ill, They said The Curse had looked at him, and They beat her.  
If a person died, it was because The Curse had crossed his path, and this was cause enough to beat her as well.  
If the harvest didn't come when They thought it ought to, they said The Curse had taken all the food for herself, and again, They beat her.  
If it was too hot, or too cold, or too wet, or too dry, or inclement in any way, The Curse had displeased the great deity, Ashtan, and she deserved a whipping in the temple of the god.  
Anything she touched had to be cleansed, or if it could not be cleansed, it must be burned. If she touched a person, they had to do such strenuous penance that no one wanted anything to do with her.  
From birth, The Curse was beat nearly every day. (It would have been "from her cradle," but curses didn't have cradles.)

Melanie took a moment to reminisce over the few days of her life when she was free from beatings. Those days were the ones she spent with Lucasta.  
Lucasta had the status of the oldest, and therefore wisest, person in the whole community. The same people who pronounced Ashtan's judgement on Melanie said that same god had preserved Lucasta over the ages. Because he had preserved her, this explained why she could consort with The Curse without risking denouncement.  
Those days when she could have a few hours with Lucasta, when there was no one else demanding the woman's time were infinitely precious to the love-starved girl. The woman's character shone from within her like her name, "pure light." In the presence of such a woman, Melanie keenly felt the contrasting darkness of her soul.  
Every day Lucasta welcomed her with a saintly smile and a hospitable gesture, Melanie felt a sort of reverential awe build inside her. If it weren't for Lucasta, Melanie would definitely have gone without an education. Where everyone else saw a curse (and what was the use of educating that?) Lucasta saw a frail, sensitive girl, badly in need of loving care, and thirsting for knowledge. Lucasta taught Melanie to read and write, and together they devised clever signs in which to communicate. Those days were divine bliss to the young girl, but even such days must come to an end.  
Even though They considered her supernaturally protected from The Curse, They still blamed the young outcast when the old woman was found dead and peaceful in her home one morning.  
"Poor, _dear _Lucasta!" They crooned, clucking Their tongues. "She might have lived longer had she not meddled with The Curse."  
From that day forward, Melanie dare not set foot outside the small wood behind Lucasta's house. They let her go there, and did not bother her. The Woods were evil, They thought, and The Curse was evil. What could be more fitting?  
For Melanie, Lucasta's death marked the annihilation of color in Melanie's life. For the first time in her life, Melanie felt heard and understood with the signs the woman taught her. When everyone else stood by Lucasta's grave for one hour (just long enough for the service), and promptly resumed their normal duties, Melanie mourned her dear teacher and only friend for a whole week.  
Didn't _that _start the rumors! Some spread the tale that they had seen The Curse tussling with the Tree King (their equivalent of the Devil) over which souls were hers, and which were his. This gave rise to the legend that Ashtan himself came down to claim the souls that belonged to him, and when he tried to bring Lucasta into Paradise, The Curse—out of pure spite and selfish greed—_wouldn't let him take her!_  
On the last morning, Melanie was discovered asleep next to Lucasta's grave with the very tip of her little finger resting against the deceased old woman's gravestone. She was beaten and chased back into the woods. They would not let her leave the woods after that. Three days later, they actually came into the woods after her, wrapped her in a rough blanket (which she knew they would burn afterwards) and dragged her out from the shelter of the trees. She had tried to escape, pushing the blanket off and trying to run, but They quickly surrounded her. They knocked her unconscious, and she had woken up on the raft.  
A bold seagull landed on Melanie's chest and jolted her out of her reverie. She wriggled as much as she could, and seagull flew away. Her mouth was dry, _so _dry! She _must _have water. She recalled what Lucasta had taught her about Ashtan. He was a kind god, and just. Because he was a spirit, Lucasta said, he could understand thoughts just as clearly as Melanie could understand signs. Lucasta said Ashtan would be faithful to provide for anyone who asked.  
_Ashtan! Ashtan! _Melanie's thoughts exploded in her head. Would he pay any attention to a Curse such as her? _Ashtan! Great god! Please, I would like some water! _Melanie's head swam, and she began to feel feverish. The sun, formerly overhead, now shone a little behind her head. _So I'm heading east,_ she thought. By tipping her head up as far as she could, Melanie could see a vast stretch of land on the horizon. She wondered what land it was.  
Melanie smelled a shift in the wind as she laid her head back down. It blew strong, from the northeast. There had been gulls settled on the water, but they now took to their wings. The atmosphere felt heavy as Melanie breathed it, a sure sign of a storm. Clouds appeared, billowing and blackening, blotting out the sun. Something struck Melanie on the forehead and trickled into her hair. A flash of lightning tore a gash in the clouds, and the sky poured rain! Melanie opened her mouth wide, trying to catch all the rain she could. Perhaps Ashtan was the good god Lucasta described him as, after all. With an unexpected jerk, the raft to which Melanie was bound flipped on its left edge as the storm stirred not only the wind and the rain, but the sea as well. Melanie did not even have the chance to close her mouth before the huge wave crashed over her and flipped the raft upside-down. Now she couldn't breathe. She was going to drown under the raft. There was no way she could escape. Ashtan _was _a just god, and not a forgiving one. He probably didn't exist, or if he did, he most likely caused the wave, and not the rain. Melanie's lungs burned. She had to get air!  
_Ashtan! _Her thoughts yelled. The waters beneath her heaved, and she was face up in the rain once more. The sea still surged, crashing over her, tossing and spinning the raft to and fro, but never again did it flip over. Then something jerked at her feet. Melanie could only gaze in frozen horror as the biggest wave she had ever seen rose up next to her, curling over her and crashing upon her with tons and tons of water. The sheer weight of it all knocked her completely senseless . . .

_**Chapter 1**_

A seagull flew over the Atlantic coast. There was a strange rock in the water. The gull landed upon this new, tan-colored rock. It was softer than most rocks, and almost looked like the huge, wingless creatures that flocked to the beach on clear days like this one. The rock jerked beneath the gull's feet, startling the bird. How was this? The gull flew away to find a more stable setting place as Melanie—choking and gasping on the water she'd swallowed—opened her eyes.

She was alive! The morning sun shone on her right, and the land that she had seen approaching yesterday was now behind her. Somehow, she had gone from one side of the huge island to the other, most likely by some waterway of some sort. The sea was calmer now, and Melanie's raft rode a northbound current. The girl wondered what she would see next.  
Her skin itched from the dried seawater, and more splashed over her from time to time. As Melanie floated, hunger such as she had never known even on the island she called home wrenched at her frail frame. She gasped at the horrible pain, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She shut her eyes against the agony, hoping sleep would help her forget the void in her middle.  
A shadow fell across her face, and Melanie opened her eyes just in time to see the black, sloped underside of the bow on a huge white boat before it slid right over the top of the small raft and its prisoner.

Susan Pevensie stood on the lowest deck of the Florida Day-Cruise ship as it rounded the tip of the state. While her father gave lectures in Orlando, Susan and her mother occupied themselves seeing the sights of such a beautiful place. The day-cruise boat was a large paddleboat.

_Half the size of the_ Splendor Hyaline_, and not quite so nice,_ Susan sighed as she remembered fondly the happy jaunts she and her siblings would take in Narnia. She pined for those days, but knew she needed to put such memories behind her, for they would never happen again.

Still, it was rather jolly to stare into the moving water and allow her mind to return to Narnia and become Queen Susan again. She stared at the ethereal trail of bubbles that floated up from underneath the boat and wondered semiconsciously what sort of creature made those bubbles, if any did.  
Susan jolted out of her musings and screamed in shock. Instantly, a deck hand appeared at her side, "What's wrong?"  
Susan—speechless with shock—could only point: a body, tied to a crude raft with leather thongs, had floated up from beneath the water. It was a girl, and her face, arms, and legs were red-striped with scratches, most likely from the underside of the hull. The deck hand called two of his fellows over and climbed off the boat and onto the raft. He cut the girl's bonds and lifted her limp form onto the boat. She was so thin, and her body so cold, that most people thought she might be dead. However, one of the passengers happened to be a doctor, and confirmed she was in fact still alive, though not wholly beyond danger. No one knew who she was or where she came from.  
"What shall we do with her?" someone asked. There were no beds, or even a small cabin to keep the girl.  
"I will look after her."  
At first Susan dimly wondered who had made such a selfless offer, but then it occurred to her that everyone was looking at her. _She _had been the one to speak. Quickly, she formed a plan in her mind.  
"Bring her over there," she told the deck hand, pointing to a group of chairs in a secluded part of the deck. At this point, the boat was only two hours out from port.  
A second deck-hand brought a blanket, and left Susan to remove the rough, wet, molding shift that was the girl's only clothing and wrap her in the warm, dry, soft blanket.  
Susan looked up from tending the girl to see the doctor approach. "When she wakes up, give her this, with a glass of water," he said as he poured a small white pill from a bottle into a paper packet. He continued, "She looks as if she has not eaten or drunk in at least a few days, so do not try to feed her anything stronger or richer than simple broth for about a week."  
He handed the packet to Susan. "This pill will put her to sleep for several hours, but it also contains many vitamins to supply the nourishment she so badly needs."  
Susan thanked the doctor and accepted the envelope.  
Accordingly, as soon as Susan and her mother disembarked, they brought the girl back to the hotel room with them. Mrs. Pevensie wanted to take the girl to live with her, but Susan disagreed. "Peter has found a house for rent, and we will be staying there. I can take care of the girl when I'm not in class."  
"But Susan," her mother pleaded, "why do you want to take this girl in? Are you certain you will be able to adequately care for her?"  
Susan gazed at the pale face on the bed. "I . . . I _need _to, Mother. I feel like I ought to do this." She looked back at her mother, "Please allow me."  
Mrs. Pevensie held her daughter's eyes, in which she saw the light of determination. "Of course, Susan; you may do this if you choose."  
Mother and daughter moved to the main room of the suite to wait until the girl awoke.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They were coming for her. Their faces were ugly, sneering. She didn't have to hear Them to know what They were saying. It was the only thing anyone ever said when They looked at her. "Cursed! Cursed! You are a curse upon us!" This time, They said something different, and They moved toward her. Covering Their mouths with scarves and their hands with gloves, They grabbed her. Some of Them jabbed at her with sticks. She tried to break free, to wrench her wrists from Their grasp, but They held on. Something big and dark swung at her head, and the world turned black.

Melanie awoke in a strange place. She was on a bed in a room, and she was frightened. Who brought her here? More importantly, where was here? Someone she did not know came into the room. The girls looked at each other without saying anything. Melanie tried to warn the newcomer, to keep her back, but she kept coming. Foolish girl! Didn't she know?

The other—Susan—reached out to touch Melanie's wrists, and she slapped her hand away. Susan smiled, but Melanie knew better. She was The Curse; people never smiled at her unless they were going to do something particularly nasty. That didn't mean she did not deserve it, being accursed, but it still hurt her not to be able to trust anyone. Susan was confused, but she still smiled. She placed a cloth on the little table next to the bed and left the room. Trying not to touch anything else, Melanie craned her neck to look into the mirror next to the bed. She saw a dirty face, wild hair, and wide, sunken eyes.

I look like a curse, the girl thought. Susan came back into the room with her mother. The mother began saying things, but Melanie couldn't understand, couldn't hear her. She held a glass of water and a small white pill. Through signs, the mother finally communicated that Melanie was supposed to use the water to swallow the white thing. The girl, understanding at last, promptly took up the rag and used it to pick up the glass. Rags were easier to burn than glasses. It was a nice rag; pity they would have to burn it, but that's the price they had to be willing to pay, taking her in like this. Melanie tried to sign, to ask them something, but she was having trouble making herself understood. Suddenly the room went all funny, like looking at a pot of boiling water, only it was the room that was moving. The girl's eyes became heavy, like iron, and she fell asleep. It was not a pleasant sleep, though, for as she slept, she dreamed They came to her, and burned the room with her in it. That's the price others pay . . .

Peter was waiting in front of the house when Susan's cab pulled up. To his surprise, instead of his sister, he received an armful of blanket-wrapped girl, who looked to be about Lucy's size.

"Bring her inside, Peter," Susan said, moving around the automobile to pay the cabbie and receive her bags.

Peter grunted, "Nice to see you back, Susan."

With the girl in his arms, he had to stretch to reach the knocker. A stout, elderly woman in a checked dress and frilly cap answered the door.

"Mrs. Mandrow?" Peter inquired.

The woman looked up, bewildered. "Yes, what do you want?"

"I'm Peter Pevensie, the student wanting to rent the house."

Mrs. Mandrow's scowl disappeared. "Oh! Come in, it's all ready for you." She gestured to Susan, just approaching with her bags, "Is that your sister?"

Peter nodded, "Yes, that is Susan; Susan, this is Mrs. Mandrow; she's leasing the house to us."

The kindly lady pointed to the girl in Peter's arms, "And who is this?"

Peter looked at Susan.

"A friend," was all Susan said.

Peter cocked an eyebrow and looked up to see the same expression on Mrs. Mandrow's face.

"Well, you can put her in here on the settee in the sitting room until she wakes."

Mrs. Mandrow walked into the house, motioning Peter and Susan to follow her as she did so.

"We don't really live here much, you know," she said.

"You don't?" Peter asked as he took the suitcases from Susan, his arms finally free of the girl.

Mrs. Mandrow shook her head. "No, we just bought another place over in Chelsea. Of course, we still own this house, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like. I was just making sure everything was in order for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mandrow; this is a wonderful house," Susan said graciously.

"Humph!" the old woman snorted, "I suppose you know we bought this place from Digory Kirke, your professor friend? He grew up here with his parents and his mother's brother and sister, the Ketterleys."

Peter followed Mrs. Mandrow up to the bedrooms. "I knew he grew up here, but he never mentioned anything about an uncle."

"No, he probably didn't; I never met them, but—" Mrs. Mandrow leaned forward conspiratorially—"I hear his uncle was a magician, dabbling in wizardry. They say he brought a witch-Queen from a different world."

Peter's eyes grew wide at the words "witch-Queen." Mrs. Mandrow took that as disbelief. She relished the chance to impart a bit of gossip.

"Yes, and she created such a hullabaloo as was never seen before or since, and then disappeared! Mr. Ketterley went crazy after that—if it was possible to be any crazier than he was before—but I hear he never did a lick of magic after that witch-Queen disappeared. Well," she continued, moving out of the room and down the stairs, "you're all moved in, then. Here's the keys to the house, and I'll be leaving you to get yourselves settled."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mandrow," Peter called. The woman waved, and turned to hail a cab.

Peter entered the sitting room, where Susan was tending the mysterious girl. "'Witch-Queen from a different world,' did you hear her say that? I'll bet he found a way into Narnia." He snapped his fingers at the idea. "Maybe that's how he knew so much about it! Think of it Susan: the Professor was there when it all began!"

Susan looked up at her brother and rolled her eyes. She went back to tending the mysterious girl.

Susan entered the King's College on Denmark Hill and sighed. It was only her second semester, but she knew what was coming.

"Oh, look! There's Susan. Did you find any alternate dimensions in America, or is it only for the British?"

"Do they have talking animals in America?"

"Susan, I'm thinking of becoming queen someday. Do you think you can teach me how?"

It didn't end in the classroom either. The teachers were not satisfied that she simply not mention her Narnian life directly.

"Miss Pevensie, this is a medical university for people serious in study to become doctors and nurses, not young students with wild imaginations who want to become storytellers. I would ask that you please refrain from any references to a lifestyle beyond that which is typical for a woman your age."

"Susan, I realize how vivid dreams must be, but you speak as if you were twenty years older than you are. Please try to live your own age, because until you are older, there is no way to say you have been."

They were nice about it (as nice as teachers can be) but very firm: Narnia could no longer be a part of Susan's life if she were really serious about becoming a nurse. It was either nursing or Narnia, but she could not have both, according to the teachers. Susan's troubles did not end there, for not only were there the other girls and the teachers, but there was also Benton Northwyn.

Every day, as Susan was on her way to physiology, he came from the other direction, from psychology. She began to look forward to that hour when they would pass. Eagerly she would look for him: his tall, strong body, impeccable dark hair, and last, as she passed, his mischievous green eyes, watching her as she walked by. It took a few weeks, but finally, Susan saw him as they ended up walking out of the university at the same time. She walked beside him in silence for some time.

"I'm Susan Pevensie," she began.

"Benton Northwyn," he replied with an amiable smile, and Susan thought she had never heard a nicer name for a boy.

That was the beginning, and they talked many times after that. She was studying to be a nurse, he a psychiatrist. Susan secretly hoped they would work together in the future. Susan trusted Benton, and eventually told him about Narnia and how hard it was to be teased about something so vivid in her memory.

Benton looked at her with those bright green eyes and said—rather bluntly—"You'd better just forget it, then."

Susan was crushed at his words. "Why? Don't you believe me?"

"I believe that you imagined things with your brothers and sisters, and I believe that they might have been so real to you that your mind interprets the imaginary as reality, but trust me, Susan, when I say that it's just not practical to believe in going to another world and living there for several decades, and the whole 'trip' taking no time at all."

Susan stood, her mind whirling that Benton of all people would say these things to her. "It was not a trip! It was real! I didn't imagine . . ." Her voice faded as she considered the possibility, which seemed like something a grown-up would certainly say, but hearing it from Benton, she found herself more inclined to believe it.

He stood with her. "Susan, it's a petty child's game, and it's not worth losing a friendship or a grade over, so let's just forget the whole thing and move on." He tipped her chin up and smiled at her. "There are more important things to discuss than the reality of Normina."

"Narnia," Susan corrected him without thinking. Benton raised an eyebrow and chuckled. Susan giggled, took his proffered arm, and the two walked away together.

Not far away, at the Birkbeck campus, Peter was having his own struggle, one against silence. He forced himself to stand still as he stood before his instructor, who took his time in reading Peter's thesis paper.

That thesis paper was important to Peter. In it, he had to take and defend a position for or against the old monarchial system England had been under for so long. He was one of the few students to defend a pro-monarchy position. Having reigned himself as High King of Narnia, he drew upon this firsthand experience to adequately outline this position.

At long last, the professor laid the final page of the document on his desk, but still made no comment. He looked so long at Peter that the younger man began to think he'd done something wrong.

"What sort of man are you, Peter?"

The professor's voice made Peter jump. He puzzled at the question. "Sir?"

"You among all the other students of your position write the most intimately on the workings of a monarchy. You, more so than any of the other students, are respectful to all the professors, and, in case it has escaped your notice, they regard you as their leader, a position you take to naturally and humbly. I ask you again, Peter Pevensie: what sort of a man are you?"

Peter took a deep breath and decided to tell Professor Humphries the truth. "Professor, during the holidays I had some-well, I guess you could call it transcendental—experiences."

Professor Humphries rolled his eyes and sank his head onto his hands. "Oh dear, this doesn't have anything to do with your being king, does it? What was the place?"

"Narnia, sir."

The professor suddenly looked sharply at Peter. "You are a growing man, Peter; you know as well as I do that all that talk about 'other worlds' is stuff and nonsense, for little boys. Whatever you think happened, I assure you it was only your imagination!" The professor calmed down some and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you are like a son to me, and it pains me deeply to see you clinging to childish fancies like this."

Peter looked away. He couldn't deny that Narnia was real, but where would it get him if he chose to defend it? He recalled what Aslan had told Edmund and Lucy at the end of the world: "You will know me by a different name." In Narnia he may have been Aslan, the Great Lion, but in England he was known by a different name and in a different form. The fact remained: he was still Aslan.

Peter turned back to Professor Humphries and said, "While I cannot affirm my experiences in Narnia, I cannot refute them, either. This I know for certain: Professor Kirke once told me, 'once a king in Narnia, always a king in Narnia.' I now understand what that means. Narnia may have been a fantasy, but the lessons I learned there were very real. Whether I really was High King Peter or not, that does not mean I cannot behave as one who has been king."

Professor Humphries looked upon this young student, who seemed to age ten years in the time it took him to speak. As he stood there, the old professor nearly believed that, though he had been to the royal court many times, here for the first time, in this antique classroom, he was in the presence of a true king.

He regained his composure as a dubious professor and replied, "Well, I'll accept that explanation for now, but see that you do not refer to Narnia any more. Some of the other professors will think you have gone mad."

Peter smiled. This was a request he could manage. "Yes, sir, I won't speak of Narnia while I am within the university."

Chapter 3

Susan was waiting at the front window when the cab containing her younger brother and sister arrived. "Peter! They're here!" she cried, running out to meet them.

Lucy was first out of the cab. "Susan!" she cried, throwing her arms around her older sister, "How was America? What was it like? Oh! I have so much to tell you, and I can hardly wait to hear all your stories!"

Peter waited at the door as Edmund approached. As he watched his younger brother ascend the front steps, Peter sensed growth, a more mature carriage in his brother's step. Edmund looked up as he set down his and Lucy's suitcases.

"Welcome," Peter said, extending his hand. Edmund took it and shook it firmly, but hesitated without releasing Peter's hand. The two brothers met glances only briefly before pulling each other into a hug. "Good to see you, Ed," Peter said. He picked up Lucy's bag and took it upstairs as Edmund went into the sitting room.

He and Lucy had spent the summer holidays at their Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold's house, where they'd gone to Narnia with their cousin Eustace. Edmund chuckled at the memory, when a movement in the corner startled him out of his musings. He looked over and saw a girl who looked no older than Lucy huddled into a small ball, knees tucked tight against her body. She curled toward—but not against—the corner as if intentionally refusing to look at him. Susan walked in with her arm around Lucy's shoulder.

"Who's that?" Edmund asked.

Susan immediately grew somber. "I found her tied to a raft, soaking wet and unconscious, while boating in America. She doesn't seem to understand when I talk to her, she won't let anyone touch her, and she won't move from that corner. She's been there two days now. I wanted to dress her in something dry, but my clothes are too big. She looks about your size, Lu, and I figured—if it's all right with you—she could borrow some of your things."

Lucy's compassionate heart was touched. "Of course she can," she cried, running to the girl, but Susan pulled her back.

"Stop! She behaves like a caged animal, and she might hurt you if you try to touch her. She has no idea we just want to help her."

Intrigued, Edmund drew closer to the girl, trying his best to be as non-threatening as possible. The girl finally looked up, but only as far as his hands, not his face. The closer Edmund got, the more terrified she became.

"I don't think it's help she needs; it's trust." He stopped a respectful distance from her and waited.

Melanie had been on the couch when she awoke two days previously. She had been cleaned, most likely by the girl, and—oh no! She was wearing a dressing gown! Probably it belonged to the sister. Now that it was touching her, it was contaminated. Melanie quickly sprang from the couch and curled in the corner, trying to touch as little of the house as possible. She stayed in that corner, for there alone she figured she was safe. Many times both the boy and girl tried to come to her. How many times she wished she could tell them how dangerous that was! She now knew these people were not like Them. They weren't going to hurt her, but she could see herself accidentally hurting them because of their lack of knowledge about her.

Now there were two others, a boy and a girl. The boy was moving closer to her. Melanie didn't want him so close. His lips moved, but his hands did not. She had no way of knowing what he said. Finally he lifted his hand. Oh dear! Was he going to touch her? No; he pointed to his eyes and then to the girl. His eyes were questioning. He was asking if she could see. Melanie nodded. She could understand him, but oh! If only he understood her! The boy pointed to his mouth and then to her again: could she speak? She shook her head. Finally he pointed twice more: to his ears, then to her. Could she hear? She shook her head as a lump formed in her throat. That was the whole reason she was accursed!  
No, she could not hear, not at all-but she wished more than anything to be able to do so! He brought out a piece of white paper and a pencil.  
Can you write? he wrote, and handed her the pencil.  
She took it without thinking and wrote, Yes. She handed the pencil back to the boy before she realized what she'd done. Her heart sank with horror; had she really done the unspeakable? Had she willfully contaminated another person? What would happen to him now? Would he be cursed as she was? Such thoughts whirled around Melanie's head as the oblivious boy accepted the pencil, Will you trust me?  
"Will you trust me?" she wanted to ask, especially after her thoughtlessness. She may have just cursed him along with herself. She looked at his question and thought hard. Could she really trust him? Should she trust him? Neither he nor the others obviously considered her a threat, but would they, later on? If she wanted to trust them, it was a risk she would have to be willing to take.  
She held out her hand, palm up, a symbol of agreement. He thought she wanted the pencil. She shook her head and motioned for him to put his hand on hers. He did so without hesitating. Melanie looked up at him in shock; Lucasta had been kind, but she had never touched Melanie, in spite of everything else they did together. This was the first human contact Melanie had consciously experienced, for as far back as she could remember. She took a deep breath before moving to the next part of the pact: the promise sign. She placed her hand over her heart, curled it into a fist, and placed the fist on his hand. Now his hand was sandwiched between hers, yet she could see no aversion in his face, nor did his hand flinch. Entirely of his own volition, he mimicked her gesture, placing his hand over his heart, and grabbing her whole fist. He valued her trust so much that he was willing to touch her hands—the most contaminated part of her body, They said—to secure it. That settled it; she could trust him. she picked up the pencil and paper, but stopped for a moment.  
She could trust him all right, but could she trust them all? They were all obviously related. She knew in her heart they wanted to help, but could she really trust them? Screwing up all the courage she could muster, she took up the pencil and boldly wrote, Yes beneath his question. They all smiled, and the boy took her hands and stood. She had no choice but to stand with him. What would he do? Did she make a mistake in choosing to trust him? He led her out of the corner and onto the sofa. Still with reservations, she reluctantly sat next to him.  
What is your name? he wrote. She thought for a long time.  
Finally, she wrote her name, Melanie, on the paper. She followed with a question of her own.  
What are your names?  
The boy wrote each name and pointed to the others in turn. The oldest boy was Peter, then Susan, the boy's name was Edmund, and Lucy was the youngest.  
Where am I? she wrote next.  
England, Edmund responded.  
Where is that?  
In answer to her question, Edmund brought her into another room. This room had many shelves with books, a small table, and soft carpet. Edmund led the girl to the corner of the room where stood a large map wrapped around a ball. He spun the ball and pointed to a small island on the map labeled "ENGLAND." The girl thought it amazing that one could have a single map of the whole world. At length, Edmund handed her the paper. On it were the words how, why, and what, all crossed out, then, Where are you from? She looked for it on the globe, wanting to point it out to him just as he had, but she couldn't find it. She wrote the name of the island, and then asked, What is this called? She pointed to the ball.  
Globe, Edmund wrote, and left the room quickly.

Susan, meanwhile, was not enjoying herself. Peter had insisted on asking Lucy about their stay with Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta. Lucy then proceeded to account how she, Ed, and their bratty cousin Eustace had all gone to Narnia together. Now, it wasn't Narnia itself that made Susan uncomfortable—though maybe it did, a little bit. It was her siblings' unquestioning faith in their adventures. Lucy was such an imaginative child—after all, hadn't she been the first to "discover" Narnia?—she could have been fooling with Peter, yet here he was, taking it all in and believing her every word. Did they ever have any doubts at all? Lucy, of course, was still at the age when imaginations were still very real, but Peter—surely Peter was only being nice to Lucy. Surely he knew better than to explicitly believe something like Narnia . . . didn't he? Were they crazy for believing, or was she crazy for doubting?  
Edmund came in at this point. "Ed!" Susan said, maybe a bit too loudly. "Did she show you where she came from?"  
Edmund looked scared, like he'd just received the shock of his life. "She—she—" he tried, but nodded his head without speaking and showed them the paper. Underneath his question, the answer hit Susan's troubled heart like a slap in the face:

NEW TELMAR.*

*_Author's Note: I don't think I ever quite explain New Telmar being Melanie's home, and how it came into existence, quite. In "researching" for the initial idea of using Telmar as the central location for this trilogy, I came across some information somewhere that mentioned that Lewis, when he referred to pirates coming to Telmar, might have been indirectly referencing another story, **Mutiny on the H.M.S. Bounty** by William Bligh. This mutiny happened in the South Pacific in about 1788 or so. I reasoned that, if this was so, then perhaps the Telmarines who returned to our world at the end of **Prince Caspian** in fact returned to the same time and place that their ancestor's left: an island in the South Pacific in 1788. Not knowing anything about the surrounding world and having no way to really get off the island, they decide to form a community. Then, too, the rest of the world is wholly unaware of their existence, so the "nation" of New Telmar is formed on earth, almost 200 years before the Pevensies' time. That's where it came from.-KM_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 4**_

School the next day nearly disappeared in the events of the night before, pleasantly for Peter, bewilderingly for Susan. The revelation had given Peter confidence. If Narnia didn't exist, explain the existence of a small island named after the very country nearly neighboring that land! He never touted it, though. He continued to respect the professors' wishes never to refer to Narnia, yet he couldn't help using the existence of New Telmar to cement his own faith in Narnia and Aslan.

Susan, on the other hand, went about her day with a furrowed brow. Here she was doing her best to forget about Narnia, for her sanity's sake if not for Benton, and yet it insisted on popping up to point the finger at her doubting heart and say, "Aha! You can shut your eyes, but I still exist, whether you like it or not! You have no control over me!"

Every time she even considered discussing her dilemma with Benton, she was overcome with the sense that he would be extremely disappointed in her somehow. As soon as she completed her last class for the day, she did not wait for Benton as usual but headed straight for the door. She heard him calling after her, but she couldn't talk with him; not yet. She deliberately chose the most roundabout way home, knowing Benton would try to follow her.

It was supper by the time she arrived at the house. Coming toward the front steps, she nearly tripped over a child digging in the gutter. It was Melanie, scraping away at the soft mud with her fingers. Susan rolled her eyes and turned to the door. Just as she laid her hand on the knob, a loud horn sounded. It was Benton in his father's automobile.

"Susan!" he called, "Will you go out with me?"

Unsure of what to do, Susan replied, "Five minutes," and went inside, shutting the door after her. She may have intended to wait there until Benton grew tired of waiting for her—except for the fact that her brothers and sister were discussing that everlasting Narnia again! She could hear Edmund's excited voice as he recounted how he, Lucy, and Reepicheep had been taken captive by slavers and sold in a marketplace.

"… and that would have been the end of us, except Caspian came in at the last minute with a whole army of sailors all decked out in armor and freed all the slaves sold that day and abolished the trade!"

That decided it. Susan changed her school-clothes for a nice dress and went outside. Benton was standing on the sidewalk trying to talk to Melanie. Of course she couldn't hear him. Susan put a hand on his shoulder and he turned. "Ready?" he asked, eyeing her dress with approval. She nodded. He turned back to Melanie one last time. "Good-bye!" he said loudly. Melanie never responded. He shrugged and helped Susan into the car before sliding in himself.

"Who is that, anyway?"

Susan waved her hand. "Oh, that's—" she stopped as "NEW TELMAR" flashed in her mind's eye. She looked down at her hands. "—Nobody; it's . . . no one."

Benton shrugged, "If you say so." He pulled away from the curb as Melanie kept digging.

Melanie had not been wholly unaware of the pair. She felt the brush of Susan's leg as she walked past, but currently, she was experiencing a more compelling stimulus. It called her to dig. It begged to be uncovered. She felt it while sitting on the sofa, and she had wandered all around the house first before finding herself outside, scraping away at the soft soil of the gutter in front of the house. There was something there. Melanie dug for a long time before uncovering something hard, rough, and knobby. She grabbed a specimen and pulled it up into the dying sunshine. It was a tree-root. It must have been cut down a long time previous to be buried so deep under the dirt. Something glinted in the small hole she'd just dug. She reached in with deft fingers and carefully extracted it. There in her muddy palm was a gold ring set with a pretty green stone! It seemed to glow with its own light. Another glint distracted her from the beauty of the first ring. She slipped the green ring into her pocket and reached for a second ring among the roots.  
Instantly, she was falling underground, deeper and deeper. A long time passed, and gradually, the darkness began to fade around her. It grew lighter, and Melanie perceived she was falling . . . up? The light around her was murky, as if she was in water, and her arms and legs floated outward, but all these sensations barely had time to register before there was an incredible rush and a gasp, and Melanie automatically pulled herself up onto a high bank of some sort. There was a pond she must have just exited, yet she was not wet at all. She took a moment to gather her bearings. She seemed to be in a sort of wood. For miles around she saw nothing but grass, trees, and the odd shrub. The strangest feature of the landscape was the line of pools that stretched all the way to the horizon on either side. Each was exactly like the others.  
Melanie suddenly grabbed her head as she felt a strange thudding in her ears. It made her head spin, but then she heard a steady _whoosh-whoosh-_ing sound, like the feeling of her breath on her tongue. Wait a minute—  
She _heard?_  
The strange vibration in her ears, was this _hearing?_ Melanie placed a hand on her throat and exhaled. _Whoosh._  
That was it! The noise had been her own breathing! Excited, she puffed and puffed until she felt light-headed, and then—  
"Ha."  
What was that? Something moved in her throat and the breath was no longer a _whoosh _it was "ha." Was that _talking? _Was Melanie, the girl born deaf, now _hearing _and _speaking? _Melanie tried again, experimenting with reproducing the puff with a vibration of her throat. "_Hhhh-_hhaaa, hhhaa, h-aaah, ha-_ha_! Ho—" There! She moved her lips and tongue and there was a different noise. "_Ha-_ha, ho-_ho, _hhooo, ho, hee—" Another sound!  
Melanie eyed the expanse of forest, the strange wood with no dirt to be seen, only trees, ferns, and grass. A slow smile spread its glow across her face. She removed her shoes and stockings and took off running through the forest, yelling out her new sounds.  
"_OOOOHHHHAAYAAHAAAEEEEOOOOWWW WAAYAAAHHHWOOOHWEEEOOOOOAAAA !"_  
After running some distance, she paused in a small clearing to dance around, adding her tongue for more sounds. "Lalalala! Leeleelow! Lay-low-lee-low! Lellowleeliolye!"  
She jigged from one foot to the other, adding her lips into the mix of jibberish. "Momo, popo, babee, _bo! _Talakanamobo-_do!" _Breathless, she finally stopped.  
"Come."  
In the silence, the command sounded urgent. Melanie heard the word, and saw white, spectral hands making the sign before her eyes.  
"Come!" they said again. They pointed behind Melanie, back to the pools. She turned and took a few hesitant steps in that direction. When she stopped, the hands and voice said, "Yes! Come now!" Melanie ran to the pools. The sign seemed to indicate one particular pool, for in its murky depths the white hands contrasted sharply with the darkness.  
"Come in," they said.  
Melanie only hesitated a moment before jumping into the pool.

_**Chapter 5**_

_Falling . . . falling . . . slowly sinking . . . deeper . . . falling faster . . . very fast into greenness below . . . the greenness forming into the tops of very tall trees she was falling through . . . falling through the branches . . ._  
Melanie landed at the base of a tree with a soft bump on a bed of ferns. She was in another forest! This one was different, because it had more dirt and less grass, a creek instead of pools, and the air was considerably colder. Melanie sat for a while enjoying the birdsong and the happy trickle of the brook. Presently, she heard a new sound—a rustling sound—coming from behind her. She turned to look and jumped in fear: behind her stood a huge Lion!  
It stared at her without moving. She gazed back, trembling.  
"Come."  
That call! Melanie discerned that it was the Lion speaking. But how had he spoken to her in the Wood? The signing hands appeared in her mind's eye, superimposed over his face. Melanie slowly stood and walked beside the Lion, who seemed to lead her deeper into the forest. Melanie wondered where they were going, and who the Lion was, but she did not know how to ask. Goodness! It could not have been five or ten minutes since she first learned how to speak at all!  
Finally, the Lion stopped and turned to her.  
"You have many questions, child, but you are unable to ask them."  
Melanie nodded in amazement.  
"Breathe deeply," the Lion instructed, and as Melanie obeyed, he breathed on her.  
The Lion's breath was sweet, warm, and comforting on Melanie's tongue and in her nostrils as she inhaled.  
"Now, child, speak," the Lion said.  
Melanie was confused; speak? Was it really as simple as that? Her tongue _did_ feel a bit smaller, and more manageable. She tried to speak, somehow coming up with the sounds that belonged to the letters she pictured, to communicate the signs she knew.  
"Waah yoo naam?" As Melanie listened to her voice for the first time, her heart sank. It was slow, ungainly, dull, and dreadfully clumsy-sounding. Not at all like the rich, rolling rumble of the Lion's voice.  
In the short pause that followed her question, Melanie fretted. Had she said it correctly? Would he understand?  
"My name is Aslan."  
He understood! What a relief. Melanie tried the word herself, "Azz-lann."  
When Aslan did not reply, Melanie thought perhaps now was the proper time to introduce herself. She pictured in her mind what she wanted to say and the signs to communicate them, but she had no idea how she could actually go about speaking them. "Maah naam . . . Mah-lan-eee."  
It took more effort than she had assumed it would. Aslan still held her gaze. "Melanie," he repeated, but the sign the white hands made was not one she was used to associating with her name. No matter; Melanie's foremost concern was the pronunciation of her name. She sounded it out quietly to herself.  
Aslan continued, "Do you know why you are here, Melanie?"  
Melanie shook her head.  
"Do you know where you are?"  
Again, she indicated that she did not.  
"From your world I called you, and led you here to a land whose name you will recognize: Telmar."  
Melanie looked about her in wonderment. This was the old Telmar? Why was the New Telmar in a different world? Could this mean that her ancestors somehow came to her world from this world? As if he had read her thoughts, Aslan replied, "Yes, this is where your ancestors came from, but that event will not happen for almost two hundred years from now. Telmar experienced a great famine a little over one hundred years before now, and most of the wealthier citizens followed their king into Narnia, where he conquered the natives and set himself up as their king."  
This was almost too much for Melanie to understand. "Narnee?" she queried.  
"Narnia is a country many miles from Telmar, one that your new friends Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy once ruled."  
Melanie's eyes bulged. Those people had ruled? She had sat in their chairs, eaten their food, and slept in their beds, and all the time they were _royalty?_ The youngest, Lucy, hardly seemed much younger than Melanie herself, yet apparently she had been ruler over an entire country. Melanie's head spun.  
"I must leave you now," Aslan said, "but I will tell you why you are here: the people of this province need help, and you are the one I have provided for them. Aid them in any way you can."  
Melanie nodded and—because she felt it was the appropriate thing to do—bowed low. When she raised her head, Aslan was gone and the sun was sinking slowly behind the horizon. Somehow she had been in this strange place a whole day. What were Peter and his brother and sisters doing now? Did any of them notice she was gone? Sleep overtook her and she curled up against the tree and closed her eyes against the worries. Little did she dream of the adventures awaiting her the following day.

Taurin was the son of a Telmarine farmer. As such, he was expected to be a farmer himself when the time came. That was the way of Telmar. Often Taurin caught himself wishing fervently things were not so. He had a dream, one everyone would think was scandalous, one he didn't have much of a prayer of realizing unless something drastic happened.  
More than even his desire to be materially successful, Taurin wanted to teach. Imparting knowledge was far more appealing to him than merely sowing seed, and harvesting, and caring for livestock. The wealthier farmers could choose to send their children away for a basic education of letters and numbers, but most farmers and artisans could see no use for their children to know anything outside the farm. Did one need to know letters to read the skies for the weather? Did one need to know numbers when the right amount of seed could be weighed in the hand? No, most children remained on the farm and were content because they did not know of life outside the farm.  
Taurin had seen such life, and even the thought of obtaining such knowledge increased his thirst for it. He increased his literacy in secret, through the sheer tenacity of his self-effort.  
Taurin smiled up at the tall, aged trees as he approached the forest between his family's farm and the next. This wood was the one place Taurin felt true sanctuary. Times like this, when Taurin had finished his after-breakfast chores well before the noon meal, he—with permission—would steal away to his beloved forest to explore the many different plants and animals there. He could already hear the creek trickling just ahead. Taurin ran to the bank and almost tripped over the body lying near it.  
Taurin stopped and stared at this newcomer, a girl. She had long, beautiful, fair hair, and Taurin noted that her slender white hands bore a few marks around the palms and fingertips, good evidence that she was not averse to useful work. The dress she wore was a good deal shorter than Taurin was accustomed to seeing on a girl, but he deemed it still modest.  
The young farmer's son sat next to the sleeping girl. He very much wanted to discover who she was and where she came from, but she slept so peacefully and looked so beautiful, Taurin was content to watch until she awoke of her own accord.  
Presently, a robin swooped down with a song for Taurin. He tried to shoo it away, but it only flew to the girl's shoulder and sang again. She awoke and sat up, which startled the bird. It flew away over the creek. The girl watched it with a smile, but her expression changed to one of fear and she shrank away with a shriek when she saw Taurin.  
"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," he reassured her. "My name is Taurin. What is yours?"  
The girl hesitated for so long, Taurin wondered if she knew how to speak. But then—  
"Melanie."  
Each syllable was slow and measured. Taurin wondered why, but was prudent enough not to ask. Instead, he asked, "Where are you from, Melanie?"  
Melanie considered the creek for a long while. Taurin was confused at her hesitation. "Don't you know?" he inquired.  
Melanie sighed; how on earth would she explain that she was from a different world? In the end she decided that honesty was the best policy.  
"Ahm frahm . . . Een-land," she told him.  
"Well, Melanie of Eenland, welcome to Telmar." Taurin bit back a hospitable invitation to the farm when he thought of his father. Old Marven was one of a long line of farmers, and very short on patience. As soon as the first sentence—perhaps even the first word—made it past Melanie's lips, Taurin knew his father would turn her away as a half-wit.  
He looked to the skies; the sun was near its zenith, which meant that his mother would put out the noon meal soon. He needed to return home. "Do you . . . live anywhere?" he asked Melanie. He half-hoped this Eenland was far enough away that she wouldn't be able to return immediately. It did not appear that she knew anyone else in all of Telmar.  
"No." Good! That meant she would stay in the woods.  
"Stay here," Taurin said, "I will try to return later this evening. I will bring food." He was curious at the way her eyes lit up at the mention of food. Perhaps she had been traveling a long time without being well fed; poor thing. Taurin stood, anxious to return home before he was missed. "I'll be back," he promised. Melanie smiled and waved.  
Taurin left the forest in high spirits. This miraculous turn of events could prove to be the opportunity he had waited so long for to achieve his dream.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 6**_

Night fell before Taurin could finally return to the forest. He'd saved some bread and cheese from the noon meal, and a breast of pheasant from supper. Also in the bundle was a cup so she could refresh herself with water from the creek. The bundle itself was wrapped in a wool blanket crafted by a skilled weaver. By the light of a lantern he returned to the spot where he had first met Melanie, but the girl was not there! Taurin swung the lantern around, searching in its dim light for any sign of her. He noticed a pile of branches that had not existed previously. He approached it for a closer look.  
It was not a pile of branches, but a carefully constructed shelter of boughs leaning against a low branch of the tree. Taurin smiled as he saw Melanie's clever blanket: woven ferns. He filled the cup at the stream and laid the food out on a platter of fern-leaves. The blanket he spread over Melanie's sleeping form. It was still early spring, and the night would be far too chilly for the thin ferns.  
Once everything was settled, Taurin picked up the lantern and speedily left the forest.

Dawn had barely cracked the edges of the night sky when Melanie finally awoke. She smiled when she saw the blanket, more so when she noticed the food. She gratefully partook of the simple meal on a little knoll further into the forest from which she could watch the sunrise.  
The rustle of bushes behind her announced the arrival of Taurin. He sat next to her without speaking. Melanie hesitantly handed him the cup. "T-an-k . . . you," she said.  
Taurin nodded and said, "Keep the cup. You have difficulty speaking, don't you?"  
Melanie nodded, the hot blush of shame rushing into her cheeks.  
"I can help you," Taurin said eagerly, "and we can start with the word you said just now." He snapped a twig off a nearby bush and led Melanie closer to the brook, where the soil was soft. "Can you read?" he asked.  
Melanie nodded. Taurin used the twig to write out: T-H-A-N-K. "Thank," he said distinctly.  
"Thann," Melanie tried to imitate Taurin, but she voiced the first sound, and couldn't quite manage the last sound at all. Taurin tried to explain how to make the sound.  
"Put your tongue against the bottom of your teeth like this," he demonstrated, "and bring your lip up against your tongue. Then you blow: _thhh._"  
Melanie carefully followed Taurin's instructions and tried the sound herself. "_Thhh._" She did it!  
"Very good!" Taurin praised, and gave the next sound. "Thhh-_aay_."  
"Thaay."  
"Tha-n_k_, with your tongue on the back of your mouth."  
"Thaay-_ng._"  
"Very close; what you want to do is make the sound, _ng,_ and let go with a _k _sound; nn-_k._"  
"Thaay . . . nnn-_k._" Melanie smiled; she had it right! "Thaay-n_k. _Than-_k_. Thank!"  
Seeing her excitement thrilled Taurin to no end. He was teaching! He glanced up to the sun. He needed to return to the farm. "I must go, but I will be back with more food," he told Melanie. He stood and turned to leave.  
"Toh-rinn."  
Taurin paused and looked back at Melanie.  
"Th-thhaan-k you," she said deliberately. Taurin grinned and waved as he left.

So began Melanie's lessons in speaking. Taurin, in addition to dictation, taught her about the plants and small woodland animals that had become as familiar as friends to him. Melanie learned quickly, and soon became Taurin's confidant. One day he expressed to her how he would much rather teach than work around the farm.  
"Why don't you want to be a farmer?"  
The fire of passion burned in Taurin's eyes as he spoke. "It is because I am a farmer's son that I want to teach. There are merchants here, Melanie. There had been a famine, and that is when most of the Telmarines left with King Caspian to find better land. Some of us stayed behind, and began our lives over again. Then came the merchants, willing to trade and sell things. They were attracted especially here to Nast, because our province had a harder time recovering from the famine.  
"These unscrupulous merchants make it harder, by raising prices and using false weights and faulty merchandise. We became more and more dependent on them, and they took advantage of us. At first, we artisans and farmers made sure they were fair and equitable, and refused to do business with them when they weren't," Taurin sighed, "but then they began writing out their transactions." He scowled. "When that happened, the illiterate ones suffered the worst, because the merchant could fabricate whatever he chose, and force his victim to take him at his word, or risk being brought before the court."  
"Is the King no longer involved in the affairs of his country?"  
Taurin shrugged. "Very little. Two generations ago, King Caspian III set up a Lord Protector to serve as the supervisor over all the provinces of Telmar and send reports to Narnia, where his grandson, King Caspian V now rules. In turn, there is a Lord over each of the six provinces of Telmar: Telami, Venna, Puriva, Eveston, Sordell, and Nast. These Lords report to the Lord Protector."  
"Couldn't you bring your complaint to the Lord Protector, then?"  
Taurin pulled his long legs together in a crossed position, and assumed the role of teacher as he explained the Telmarine government system.  
"Nast is the smallest province of Telmar. Lord Protector Landon is a simple man; noble, just, but easily beguiled. What is more, there is a saying in Telmar: 'It is no good if it's Nastie!' Because of its weak nature, Nast is credited for all the vagrants, thieves, and criminals. Any complaint from this province would only be waved aside. What with the national sentiments, Nast cannot export any goods, nor are the other provinces willing to import. The Nastians have grown to believe that we must depend on the merchants or perish." Taurin shook his head. "No, Melanie; they must learn to read if we want to break free of the tyranny of the merchants," he set his jaw, "and I mean to teach them."  
Melanie smiled. "Who knows but you might be the next Lord of Nast."  
Taurin looked at her as if she had suggested he would fly to the moon that night. "I could never be a lord. My father is a farmer. Here in Telmar, the fathers pass their occupation to their sons: farmers' sons become farmers, scholars' sons become teachers and scholars, and so on. The only ones with any hope of being lords are soldiers or noblemen, and Nast has neither."  
"Well then, who is Lord of Nast now?"  
"A man by the name of Fausberg. Before King Caspian the Conqueror left Telmar, he appointed that the Lordship of Nast could be inherited. Lord Fausberg's ancestors have ruled until now." Taurin's brow furrowed, and Melanie asked, "What's wrong?"  
"Lord Fausberg does not have an heir, but that's not the worst of it: if that beast Gatling has his way, he'll be the next Lord, and Nast will never be out from under his thumb."  
"Is Gatling a nobleman?"  
Chagrin twisted Taurin's features. "No! He's nothing but an arrogant, base blacksmith who happened to be in the capital city of Gildon when Lord Protector Landon was riding his horse.  
"The story goes that the Lord Protector had ridden outside the gates of Gildon when his horse stumbled on a loose shoe. The way Gatling told it, he was working at his forge when he heard a racket, and left to investigate. The horse was incapacitated, so Gatling immediately replaced the shoe and raised the horse to its feet. He helped the Lord Protector back into the saddle, when suddenly a band of robbers sprang from behind the trees. Gatling sent the horse back into the city and stayed behind, ostensibly to fend off the robbers. Lord Protector Landon knew little of what occurred, so he believed the story that circulated Gildon of the near-fatal attempt on his life that had been foiled by the noble blacksmith Gatling. Being benevolent as he is, Lord Protector Landon expressed his desire to reward this heroic blacksmith. Gatling saw his chance, and immediately asked to be named next in line for the Lordship of the province he had the most ties with: Nast." Taurin's face was glum as he finished his narrative and reflected on the fate of his province.  
"What will happen?" Melanie asked.  
"I don't know," Taurin replied, "but I can tell you certainly that it will not be good."  
Melanie absently picked at the grass beside her knee.  
"Taurin! Yoo-oo! _Taurin!"_ The voice floated over the fields.  
"Who is that?" Melanie looked toward the voice. It had been higher than Taurin's voice, so Melanie concluded that it must be a girl.  
"That is my mother," Taurin said, standing and offering his hand to Melanie. His face grew tender. "Would you like to meet her?" he asked, as if preparing to present an especial treasure. Melanie nodded, "Oh yes, I would."  
Taurin transferred her hand to his arm in true gentlemanly style. "Then permit me to bring you to her."

_**Chapter 7**_

A fair, gentle matron met Taurin in the doorway as he entered the small cottage he called home. "Oh Taurin! Where have you been? You forgot your chores again, and you know—Who is that?"  
Britta—Taurin's mother—stopped when she saw the thin, pale girl in the scandalously short dress (well above her ankles!) peeking from behind her son. Taurin led Melanie forward.  
"Mother, this is Melanie. Melanie, allow me to present my mother, Britta. Melanie is from Eenland, Mother. I discovered her in the woods not long ago. She does not have anywhere else to stay. May she stay in the guest room?"  
Britta hesitated before opening her arms to Melanie with a hospitable smile. "Welcome, Melanie. Come sit at this table and I will bring you a cold glass of fresh milk." Melanie sat at the table, which was on the opposite side of the room from the kitchen. Taurin pulled up a stool to sit across from her, but Britta stopped him. "Taurin, would you come with me? I need to speak with you."  
Taurin followed his mother to the small nook near the kitchen that served as their cold storage. She brought out the stone crock of milk, but did not pour it immediately.  
"What is it, mother?" Taurin asked.  
Britta turned to her son, her face drawn with pain, but before she could speak, a familiar step thumped before the kitchen door.  
"SO!" a rough voice barked, "Our little wood-nymph returns, eh? Had enough of your daisy-chains, young grasshopper?"  
Taurin turned from his mother to face his father. The rotund farmer's bright red hair and beard, both streaked with silver, bristled from his face like the quills of a porcupine. He glared at his son, who attempted to hold his ground.  
"Father, there's—"  
One shove of the shoulders by Marven's beefy hands sent Taurin reeling back into the middle of the room. "Don't talk back to me until I've finished, you lazy good-for-naught! You frolic among your trees and critters without a care in the world for your poor father who has helped bring this farm literally from the dust! The _dust _I tell you! I helped my father cultivate this farm in the hopes of one day passing it on to my son, and do I get an ounce of gratefulness? _NO! _Instead, you are everlastingly running to your forest and filling your head with addle-pated notions of teaching and reading and writing, and that tom-foolish book learning! I'll not allow it! I'll 'learn' you a thing or two, and I don't have to know any o' them _books _to do it! I'll—"  
"_Marven." _Britta's voice was stern as she stepped between her two men. Marven looked down at his wife.  
One could rightly say that young Britta had been the prettiest girl in Nast, and though advancing in years, she had lost little of the charm and beauty she had so plentifully as a young maid. The schoolteacher's daughter had much refinement and skill to recommend her. Marven was smitten the day he first clapped eyes on her, and no other would satisfy him. Britta alone could withstand the most terrible rages of the "Fiery Farmer," and she found herself feeling safest with his large, strong arm around her.  
Now, as she stared at him with a fire he rarely saw in her eye, Marven was suddenly aware of a new face in the room. "Who is she?" he rumbled to his wife, pointing rudely at the small, pale face staring at him wide-eyed over the table. "This is Melanie," Britta said.  
"I met her in the woods, Father," Taurin put in.  
"She will be staying with us as our guest, as she has nowhere else to go," Britta finished with a tone of finality.  
Marven stared at Melanie for quite some time. "C'mere, girl," he commanded.  
Melanie obeyed meekly. Marven placed his thick, work-worn hands on her shoulders and examined her with an appraising eye.  
"Mm . . . yes . . . ah . . ." he murmured as he gazed carefully at her features. His expression smoothed as something in her eyes caught his, Melanie noticed. He stopped and peered at her face intently. "I've never had a daughter before," he said rather quietly for someone his size, "but we will give you what welcome we can, Melanie of Eenland. You may stay with us."  
Taurin seized her hand with a victorious grin, but Marven continued, "Provided that this one does not forget his place on the farm." He looked severely at his son, who sheepishly dropped Melanie's hand. "Yes sir," he said.

By the end of the week, Melanie had endeared herself to the family. Britta appreciated her industriousness and her company in the cottage while the men worked the fields. Taurin, intent on remaining in his father's good graces lest he send Melanie away, worked diligently at whatever task his father gave him until he nearly wore himself out. As a reward, Marven allowed the two youngsters to spend the last few hours before supper in the woods, talking. Taurin found Melanie a fascinating, inquisitive girl. They had many discussions over each other's childhoods, where they lived, their likes and dislikes, and especially about the school Taurin dreamed of running.  
One night, as everyone talked and laughed over supper, Melanie caught Taurin's eye. She nodded as if to say, "Now is a good time." Taurin pushed his plate away and cleared his throat.  
"Sir," he asked Marven, "If I may be so bold, I would like to discuss my future."  
Marven dropped his fork and looked at his son. "Your future? What is there to discuss? You will be a farmer, as I am, and as we always have been."  
Taurin sighed and continued. "But father, I would like to teach."  
Marven's face clouded over and he slammed a heavy fist on the table with a sound like thunder. Everyone leaped at the noise.  
"I thought I told you to forget that idea!" he stormed.  
Taurin's eyes suddenly flamed. "How can I forget something so meaningful and fulfilling?"  
"Find meaning and fulfillment on the farm, Taurin! You are a farmer's son! You will be a farmer!"  
"Yet I am born of the schoolmaster's daughter!" Taurin pointed to his mother. Tempers and voices cooled in the pause as Marven cast his glance to his wife, whose clear, courageous eyes still disclosed a touch of fear behind them.  
"And so I would teach, father, if you would let me," Taurin finished quietly.  
Marven sat silent for a very long while. Finally he looked at Taurin. "If it means all that much to you, lad, I will think about it," he conceded. The Fiery Farmer stood and offered a hand to his wife. "Come; it is time we were all in bed. Tomorrow I will go into town to purchase a new blade for my scythe in preparation for harvest. I also need to make the last payment on the field. Would you like to go with me, Melanie?"  
Melanie, silent until now, nodded in answer to the invitation. "Yes sir, if Britta does not mind."  
Britta shook her head, signaling that she did not mind, and followed her husband into the big bedroom at the back of the cottage. Melanie and Taurin stayed at the table to talk.  
"Have you ever stood up to your father like that before?" Melanie asked.  
Taurin let out a long breath. "No, I haven't," he replied, "I don't know what came over me."  
Melanie smiled, "I suppose when you are convinced enough about an idea you are willing to surmount the most difficult obstacle to defend it."  
Taurin shrugged, "Anyway, I've given the matter to him now; it is his to contend with, and I may only wait for an answer."  
"Do you think he will really consider it?"  
Taurin nodded confidently, "Father is a man of his word. If he says he will think about it, rest assured he will."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 8**_

The morning dawned warm and crisp. Britta made fresh apple turnovers for breakfast. After everyone had eaten the morning meal, Taurin headed out to begin his chores, and Marven loaded the wagon with an assortment of produce and helped Melanie into the bench at the front. With a sharp whistle and a snap of the reins, they began the long trek to the marketplace.  
Along the way, Melanie took note of the cottages, farms, and people she saw. There was a vegetable farm, with the beanstalks climbing up their trellises and the corn swaying gently in the summer breeze. A child romped on the lawn wearing last year's clothes and playing with the dog as his father—a potter—threw beautifully shaped vases and jars on his wheel. Once, they passed by a weaver's house so close, Melanie could see the chapped redness of her fingers as she spun the rough wool.  
When they arrived at the market, however, Melanie saw little of these wares. Immediately, she was belabored with sights, smells, colors, and accents from the lands surrounding Telmar.

Archenlanders extolled the virtues of their produce, the sturdiness of their wood, and the soundness of their metal. Calormene merchants cried aloud with their praises for the many spices and jewels and fabrics. A richly dressed man contracted some business deal with a shady character in a dark corner.

Melanie watched as the produce so carefully tended by Marven and other farmers like him were submitted to the moneychangers for a handful of metal tokens only half their worth. Five yards of the thick, close-knit woolen cloth suitable for the cold Nastian winter changed hands for only three yards of thin, gaudy material assured as "the latest fashion." The potter could not clothe his child, and small wonder! His carefully crafted, practical pots had not the aesthetic appeal of the brightly colored, overly ornamented vases of imitation plaster.

Marven paid most of his tokens for his new scythe-blade. Melanie followed him as he took the remainder to a small office marked _Land Shares._

A wizened, crafty, oily-skinned man who smelt heavily sat at a desk in the dark room. He peered at Marven and adjusted his velvet cap before reaching across the desk for the monies Marven laid before him. The long sleeves of his ornate robe flared about his scrawny wrists as he first counted out the money and then opened a small box full of receipts. He pulled one out and looked long at it, his red tongue snaking out to lick his lips as he glanced from Marven, to the money, to the paper, and back to Marven. Finally, he set down the paper and made a few marks,

"Very well, farmer," he said in a soft, greedy voice, "your debt is nearly paid. Perhaps by next market-day you will have enough to make the last payment."

Marven first paled, then flushed as his beard bristled, a sure sign he was angry. "Now see here, Shiloq!" he struggled to keep his voice even, "I have been paying this debt all the six years since you first loaned me the money to purchase it! Surely by now I've paid what I owe three times over!"

Shiloq smiled wickedly. "Oh, but I have the amount written here." He tapped the paper, knowing full well that it was not possible for Marven to understand the writing. Melanie, however, read the figures between the greedy man's fingers.

_**PAID TO FARMER FOR ONE ACRE GOOD LAND—§300**_

_Paid - §60_

_Paid - §130_

_Paid - §78_

_Paid - §56_

_Paid - §106_

_Paid - §40_

_Paid - §50_

_Paid - §60_

_Paid - §50_

She made the calculations in her head. Before she realized it, she spoke aloud, "According to your records, sir, this farmer has paid more than twice what he owes."

Shiloq's mouth twisted and his eyes bulged. "An impertinent _chit _you have there, farmer!" he spat.

_WHAM!_

Marven's hand slammed on the desk as he reclaimed the money he no longer owed from the swindler. "Aye!" he shot back, "but she's smart as well, so I'll not reprimand her!" He left with his money.

Without a word he dragged Melanie through the crowd until they reached the bookseller's wagon. "Pick one," he told her. Remembering Taurin's school, Melanie selected a simple primer. Marven did not ask the price but paid the bookseller every coin in his hand.

He said nothing all during the long ride back to the farm. Melanie tried to discern his thoughts through his face, but it was frozen into a hard, indecipherable mask.

He may have forgotten her during the ride, but he did not forget his manners, stepping off the empty wagon and turning immediately to assist Melanie. Once she had alighted safely, he turned and gave a sharp whistle in the direction of the barn. "Taurin!" he barked.

The young man came running, for he expected the worst. Marven took the book from Melanie and thrust it at his son. "There! Read that and after the harvest is safely in you can have your school! I'm blasted if I don't aim to get the better of those skinflint merchants and thanks to your new friend here I see that's by reading!"

Taurin was so shocked he could only stare at the book in his hands. "Truly father?" he gasped.

"Get on with you!" Marven growled to cover the excitement he felt welling up inside him. He hid the grin playing with the corners of his mouth under a ferocious scowl. "I see I spoke to soon. Go to your woods for the rest of the day, for you'll be of no use to me now. Go!" He waved a hand at the pair, and Taurin grabbed Melanie's hand as the two took off running into the trees.

Taurin felt lighter than a feather as he ran. He was going to teach! His wildest dream was coming true! He turned to Melanie, who was running and laughing beside him. He wanted to fly like a bird, to swing like a monkey, to sing and caper among the trees he loved so much.

_In time, the farmers will read,_ Melanie thought, _and the evil merchants will no longer have a stranglehold on Nastian commerce. In time, Nastians will be able to write their own bills, and catch the swindlers at their own game!_

She romped among the trees with Taurin. He ran off among the ferns until she could no longer see him. "Taurin! Wait!" she called. Melanie dove among the ferns in the direction she last saw him. "Taurin!"

Melanie heard a voice say, "How much longer now?" She froze; the voice did not belong to Taurin, but it was close by. Another voice replied, "Should be soon." Stealthily, she crept toward the voice until she pulled back a fern and saw the backs of two men waiting in the foliage.

One of them turned his head, and Melanie choked back a cry! It was the dark man from the corner, the one who had made some deal with the rich man! Melanie wondered if this was the "deal" the dark man had made. She crept backwards silently. A hand clapped over her mouth, and she jerked around to face Taurin. He had seen the men, too.

"Whom are they waiting for?" Melanie whispered.

In answer, hoof-beats clattered on the road through the woods. Taurin pointed as a rich carriage pulled into view. "Lord Fausberg!" he breathed.

Quite suddenly, Melanie knew exactly what she must do. She slithered precisely through the ferns. She heard Taurin whisper, "Melanie! Where are you going?" She did not heed him. She kept low until she reached the first horse pulling the carriage. One slight tug of its bridle stopped it long enough for Melanie to open the carriage door. A small, thin man with kind eyes and short grey hair and whiskers blinked at her.

"Please, Milord, there are men lying in wait to—"

"Hiyaa!" The assailants leapt out of hiding, but stopped short as Taurin stood from among the ferns and yelled, "Stop!" The foot soldiers leapt from their perches on the carriage and prepared to defend their master. In the confusion, one of them stumbled against the door of the carriage, knocking Melanie off-balance. With a cry, she tumbled backwards off the edge of the road and into the pool below.

_**Chapter 9**_

It must have been a very deep pool because she fell a long time. She felt a rush, and the water seemed to evaporate into a gust of wind, and Melanie blinked to find herself standing in front of the house in England, exactly where she had been—oh it felt like weeks ago!

Her ears felt sealed with wax. She pounded the side of her head with the heel of her hand. A car drove by. Melanie could see it and feel the gust it made, but she could not hear it at all. She tried speaking, but her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice the size it should have been, and she could not make it work. With a sigh, she returned inside the house.

To her surprise, everything was exactly as she had left it, as if she had not been gone at all. Peter still read on the sofa, Lucy still sat at the table drawing, and Edmund absently picked at the rug in front of the hearth. Melanie sat near him. He smiled at her, and she could clearly see the surprise on his face as she returned his smile. Borrowing a pencil and paper from Lucy, Melanie tried to explain how her attitude could completely change in what must amount to only a few minutes.

_I was gone, _she wrote.

Edmund seemed to understand. He wrote a question of his own. _Do you find it easier to communicate with signs or by writing?_

_Signs, _Melanie wrote in reply.

_Will you teach me your signs? _Edmund wrote. When Melanie nodded, he wrote _Melanie_ and pointed to it.

Melanie hesitated. Her name did not have a sign. No one ever bothered to call her "Melanie." They referred to her by her most evident characteristic. She decided to show Edmund this sign. It was the one she answered to, anyway: two fingers slapped twice on the back of the opposite hand. The sign for "curse," but of course Edmund didn't know. He repeated the sign, unaware of Melanie's discomfort to see such kind hands making such an evil sign, but that couldn't be helped.

Edmund said something to his brother, and Lucy looked up as well. Melanie could tell he was explaining to them what Melanie was teaching. He grabbed the pencil again.

_Edmund, _he wrote.

Melanie made a slight variation on the sign for "trust," and taught it to them.

For Lucy's name, she decided on a variation of the "sister" sign. Peter was "eldest", and Susan was "woman."

Melanie taught them how to ask questions with their hands, and soon they no longer needed the pencil and paper at all, communicating entirely through signs. Melanie taught them more and more words, until Peter gave the sign for "bed."

Melanie, dressed in one of Lucy's nightgowns, curled into a cot in the girls' room. Just before falling asleep, she remembered Susan and wondered if she was having an enjoyable evening . . .

Susan, over dinner that evening, vainly attempted joviality. She made small talk and laughed as if she hadn't a care in the world, and nearly thought she'd succeeded until Benton placed his hand on hers.  
"Susan?" he said.  
She jumped and turned to him a bit quicker than she would have liked. "Yes?" she tried to smile as if nothing was wrong.  
Benton raised his eyebrows. "You've been on edge all evening. You avoided me this morning, and I'm really concerned for you."  
Susan squirmed uncomfortably.  
"Is this about your Narnia complex?"  
Nod.  
"Do you want to walk as we talk about it?"  
Nod again.  
Benton signaled the waiter, paid the check, pulled Susan's chair out for her, and led her by the hand out of the restaurant.  
They walked to a nearby park. As they circumnavigated the park and returned to Benton's car, Susan found herself telling Benton all about Melanie, and New Telmar, and Ed and Lucy "going to Narnia," and her struggles with her doubts. "What is more, I feel trapped whenever something of that nature surfaces because it reminds me how truly uncertain I am of my beliefs."  
Benton appeared deep in thought as he helped Susan into the car. He slid in next to her behind the steering wheel and she looked away, cheeks burning with shame.  
"Susan, look at me."  
She did.  
"I need to tell you something. Since I first met you, I confess you have had a profound impact on me. You captured my admiration like no other girl could.

"You were open, honest, friendly, very smart . . . " His voice dropped so low, Susan had to lean forward to hear him. He reached out and stroked her hair, " . . . and very beautiful. I care about you."

Susan closed her eyes, merely listening to Benton's voice. His face was so close, she could feel his breath as he continued, "I love . . ."

The instant his lips brushed hers, Susan saw behind her eyelids the face of her first kiss—

_Caspian!_

"Oh!" she cried, pulling away. Benton caught her hand.

"It is because I care for you that I give you this advice: forget Narnia! It has nothing to do with real life, I assure you. It may have been entertaining while you were younger, but you are not a little girl anymore, Susan! It's time to move on." Benton shifted in his seat to be able to look Susan in the eye.

"Susan, you have fallen victim to your own childish imagination. You are like a toddler who cannot discern between real life and fantasy. Let me help you become a mature adult.

"Whenever you find yourself thinking of Narnia, I want you to give yourself a good shake and tell yourself, 'Susan, there is no such thing as Narnia!' Try it with me now. Look me in the eye and tell me, 'Benton, there is no such thing as Narnia.' Try it!"

Susan gazed at him and slowly repeated, "Benton, there is no such thing—" She stopped and horror transformed her features as instead of Benton she saw Caspian's face!

"I want to go home!" she cried.

Benton wordlessly started the car and steered back to Ketterley House. He opened the door for Susan, and she alighted but did not immediately enter the house. She stood looking at Benton and holding his hand.

"I-I'm sorry, Ben," she said quietly.

Benton sighed, "I am, too," he said softly.

"I _will _say it," Susan promised.

Benton gave her a half-smile. "I believe you. Good night, Susan."

"Good night."

Susan went straight upstairs as soon as she got inside the door. She could hear Melanie and Lucy's soft breathing coming from their beds. She looked at herself in the mirror. "All right, Susan," she whispered to herself resolutely, "now's your chance. There is . . . there is—" Oh! What was the use?

Why on earth did she feel so . . . _wretched_? As if she was trying to force herself to say something she did not _really _believe?

Oh! It was all the fault of the younger kids! Edmund and Lucy with their everlasting Narnia talk! Susan had been immersing herself in real life very well before they came along and dredged everything up—hadn't she? Melanie, too, with her beastly "New Telmar" nonsense.

Why, oh _why _did Peter encourage such things?

Susan sank into bed with a sigh. With the last bit of willpower, the last ounce of consciousness before dropping off to sleep, Susan Pevensie whispered into the darkness:

"There is . . . no such thing . . . as . . . _Narnia._"

THE END


End file.
